


Scanning the Headlines

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [27]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Breakfast, M/M, Musing, Noticing Details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Nice picture of you and the boys this morning.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



Sam shakes the paper open over her first cup of tea, takes a quick scan of the front page and drops it beside her cup to read the weather. She’s always enjoyed the paper over breakfast; it’s a habit she picked up from her uncle who was not to be disturbed until after his second piece of toast or he got half-way through the crossword, whichever came first. 

‘Here you go, dear.’ Mrs. Briggs comes in with a plate of eggs, a single slice of tomato balanced on the side opposite a slice of bread. ‘No bacon this morning, I’m afraid.’

Sam looks up and smiles at her, taking the plate. ‘That’s all right, Mrs. Briggs. I never liked it very much.’

Mrs. Briggs nods towards the paper as she checks the teapot to make sure it’s still warm. ‘Nice picture of you and the boys this morning.’

Sam turns the paper back over and only now realises that she is in one of the front page photographs -- and only Mrs. Briggs would refer to Sergeant Milner and Mr. Foyle as ‘the boys’ and make it sound perfectly reasonable. ‘Oh, yes.’ She shakes the paper out again and refolds it so she can see picture and story at the same time.

She remembers now that the reporter had been talking to Mr. Foyle in his office before they left for the day; it wasn’t usual for her to drive them home, but with Mr. Milner limping so badly, she hadn’t been surprised when Mr. Foyle asked if she minded. She had come in to tell them the car was ready and the reporter had walked out with them. She wonders that she hadn’t noticed the photographer but, then, none of them look as though they were prepared for a picture. Mr. Foyle is smiling broadly -- she thinks at something she had just said, although she can’t remember for sure -- and Sergeant Milner looks as though he’s just about to say something. 

She stabs a forkful of eggs and toast and glances at the paragraphs of type. She knows this is the case they’ve been working on for the past few weeks but, honestly, she has been more of an actual driver than she thinks she ever has before. Between a snap inspection at the MTC she had nearly missed and then having to help out when some new recruits didn’t arrive in time, she hasn’t spent a lot of time at the station. Reading through the cramped column of text, she starts to see why. Apparently Mr. Foyle had managed to pass enough evidence on to London for the Metropolitan force to be able to break a network of German sympathizers, at least three of whom were passing information to an actual double agent. 

The steady lines of type made it sound like a rather ordinary day’s work, but she knows that Sergeant Milner has been limping badly for the past week, passing it off as a slip in the bath, and Mr. Foyle had had a thick bandage around the palm of his left hand the week before.

She looks at the photograph again and smiles. Even if she hadn’t been able to read between the lines of the newspaper story a little, the expressions on their faces would have given her clue as to their success. They both look gleeful, if tired. 

She mops up the last of her egg with the last crust of bread and pops it in her mouth. She sucks the last bit of yolk off her thumb and goes to push the paper back onto the table and get up. 

Taking a last look at the front page, she studies the photograph. There’s something about Mr. Milner’s expression that she can’t quite quantify -- he looks happy, relieved, and -- something else. He looks as though he’s just about to lean forward and touch Foyle’s shoulder -- Mr. Foyle, for his part, seems to be turning backwards slightly. It almost looks a little awkward now she’s noticed it. If Mr. Milner took another half-step forward he would collide bodily with Mr. Foyle and--- 

She studies it for another minute. There’s something -- something she feels she’s missing, even though she had been standing right there. In an odd way, she feels as though she isn’t in the photograph at all: it’s the two men and -- and something almost -- conspiratorial? 

Then she shakes her head, remonstrating silently with herself for making up stories that don’t even make _sense._ Neither Mr. Foyle nor Mr. Milner are the schoolboy type. She folds the paper up and drops it back on the table. ‘I’m off now, Mrs. Briggs!’

‘All right, Samantha -- see you tonight.’ 

Sam spares one last glance to the paper as she pulls on her coat then dismisses it as she checks to make sure her cap is on straight and unlatches the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes her stop and swallow her _good morning_ is a sudden feeling that she shouldn’t be seeing this.

Sam pauses in the door of Mr. Foyle’s office, momentarily unsure of what to do with herself. It’s a sensation she’s familiar with -- she feels it around her family often enough. It doesn’t usually follow her _here,_ though, so it brings her up short. 

Sergeant Milner and Mr. Foyle are both already here and talking over something spread out on Mr. Foyle’s desk -- from the little she can see, she guesses a map or an enlarged photograph. Sergeant Milner is standing by the far side of the desk, focusing on the paper on the desk top. He’s leaning on the back of Mr. Foyle’s chair, one hand on the top rail, the other planted flat on the desk. Mr. Foyle is half-twisted in his seat with his back to her. He’s pointing to something on the document with a pencil and saying something she can’t catch. She can see Sergeant Milner’s gaze moving back and forth between the map and Mr. Foyle’s face and he smiles; it softens the lines of his angular face and Mr. Foyle leans towards him slightly, tapping the paper with a fingertip.

What makes her stop and swallow her _good morning_ is a sudden feeling that she shouldn’t be seeing this. There’s something about it that makes her feel she should just walk back to the desk, spend a few more minutes chatting with Constable Holmes about his mother’s vegetable garden. They’re just talking -- something she must have seen hundreds of times by now! -- and yet it feels intimate, as though she shouldn’t be here.

As she stands, momentarily irresolute, Sergeant Milner laughs and glances up, immediately straightening up from where he had been bent over Mr. Foyle’s shoulder. ‘Oh, Sam, good morning. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘I only just got here --’ She makes a vague gesture with her cap. ‘I didn’t know if there was anything you wanted this morning.’

‘Actually, yes--’ Mr. Foyle gets up, pushing his chair back, and gestures her over. ‘Have a look at this--’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stands and thinks about the bachelor gentlemen.

‘Mrs. Briggs…’

‘Yes, dear--?’ Mrs. Briggs puts down her tea cup, props her book on the arm of her chair, and starts to get to her feet.

‘Oh, no, no --’ Sam holds out her hand. ‘Please don’t get up. I was just wondering if you knew where this morning’s paper had gone.’

‘Oh --’ Mrs. Briggs sinks back against her cushions and looks thoughtful. ‘Last I knew -- I think it was in the kitchen, in with the rest of the paper scrap. I didn’t know you wanted it for anything in particular.’

Sam smiles and shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t -- I just -- didn’t get a chance to finish reading it this morning. Thought I might try to catch up tonight.’

‘I’d think you’d get quite enough of that sort of thing at work,’ Mrs. Briggs says, picking up her tea again.

‘Yes, well -- thanks.’

* * *

The paper is under twisted up paper bags and fragments of several envelopes. Sam brushes it off and takes it upstairs, dropping it on her bureau and spreading it out under the light. She studies the front-page photograph again.

She had watched the pair of them all day. It wasn’t as though there had been much else to do in between working out routes between fields with the help of the map Mr. Foyle had had on his desk. By the end of the afternoon, it had come down to her pacing out the length of a lane that ran between a plowed field and a sheep meadow, calling back numbers of steps to Mr. Milner who stood at the far end with the map folded on top of a post, making notes on a half-sheet of paper from her pocket. Mr. Foyle had gone off on his own for a good part of the time, coming back and standing with Mr. Milner while she finished counting her steps, the two of them chatting over something in Mr. Milner’s scribble of notes. 

She stands now, tapping her fingers on the folded newspaper, and looks thoughtfully at the rim of dust on top of her mirror and thinks about the bachelor gentlemen. 

* * *

She doesn’t remember either of their real names. “The bachelor gentlemen” was the nickname her uncle had given them, two men who shared lodgings in a house at the end of the high street. They had been in the same house for as long as her uncle had lived in the Hampshire village. She knew them both well by sight and she knew her uncle visited them regularly. One of them attended her uncle’s church like clockwork. 

She remembers hearing her father and her uncle talking about the parish -- something to do with a possible visit to Leavenham from the bishop -- and her father had said something about ‘those two at the end of the street.’

‘Don’t be uncharitable, Iain,’ her uncle had replied.

‘Well, really. You shouldn’t encourage them.’

‘To do what? Have you ever spoken to either of them? Quite decent chaps, both.’

Her father snorted.

Uncle Aubrey shifted slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. ‘Are you honestly going to tell me you think they’re going to bring about some sort of village downfall?’

‘Well…no, of course not. But--’

‘But what? I’m their vicar; it’s my job to make sure they feel a part of the community.’ Her uncle had smiled suddenly and leaned forward, tapping her father’s knee with one finger. ‘As long as they don’t do it in the street--’

‘--and scare the horses,’ her father chimed in and they both laughed and the subject changed to the upcoming football match.

* * *

Sam looks back at the newspaper photograph and considers for a moment, then blocks herself out of the photo with her hand.

‘As long as they don’t do it in the street and frighten the horses,’ she mumbles aloud, startling herself into a laugh, and folds the paper back on itself, tossing it near the door; she’ll bring it back down to the kitchen in the morning. Whatever else the photograph itself or her observations of the day might mean, what she can see -- the first thing she saw this morning and the thing that strikes her now -- is that both men are smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to my beta reader [Elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane).
> 
>  
> 
> [And this is the photo I meant. ](https://goo.gl/photos/ADkVqF5H8LgMAFG96)


End file.
